Sleeper's Solace
by Lybe
Summary: "You're covered in cold sweat." Ivan was kneeling beside him now, still brushing Toris's thick hair away. "Are you alright?"  - Toris has a tough time sleeping. May become an ongoing fanfic, but for now will remain a one-shot. AU.


A/N: Yeah, so this is something I had lying around on my desktop for a while. For now, it'll remain a one-shot, but I left it open should I ever want to continue it, because I have a plot line in mind that would go perfectly with this (I just need the time is all). Should that happen, the title will probably change. Oh, and I'll admit to one thing here: it just so happened that this one-shot also starts off with a character awaking form a nightmare. I wrote this before **Reassurance, **but I guess... well... whatever. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia.

* * *

><p>Sleeper's Solace<p>

"_You won't understand, you can't..."_

"_But why not?"_

"_You just CAN'T! Stupid child! Get out, now. Just leave, LEAVE!"_

..ooOoo..

Toris shot up from the bed, brow covered in sweat, eyes darting wildly, desperate to see beyond the dark, dense blanket of night that shrouded the room. For a second, he expected to see his mother pointing that bony crooked finger down at him but was relieved when she was not there.

Though Toris was slightly eased, it did nothing for him. He quelled the nausea that rose past his stomach — well, he _tried_to anyway — but it decided to sit and form a welling lump in his throat instead. And it just kept rising, and rising—

Quickly and with a jolt, he ran to the bathroom just in time to heave out dinner's remains into the toilet. Toris clung to the porcelain rim for a while (whether it was a few short minutes or a hazed hour, he could not tell) as his stomach lurched relentlessly.

"Toris?" He heard a troubled voice call from the bedroom. The sick man thought for sure that he had dreamt the voice calling out to him. So little could he make out during his episodes of trauma.

"Toris..."

When two cool hands were smoothing the hair from his face, Toris was convinced that the man beside him was no mere apparition. His bloodshot eyes barely made out the tall figure over him, but Toris was familiar enough with the figure's height to recognize that it was Ivan's.

_Because he stayed for dinner last night,_he reminded himself.

"You're covered in cold sweat." Ivan was kneeling beside him now, still brushing Toris's thick hair away. "Are you alright?"

"Don't tease me," Toris groaned, because often the Russian man did just that; though, when his vision cleared, he caught the sincere gaze he was being given. "I'm sorry. I just... feel miserable."

Truth was, Ivan was well aware of this trauma his partner had. It had been after one of those first nights that they'd slept together — Ivan had difficulty recalling if it was the third or fourth time — when he had woken and realized that Toris had left the bed and not returned. He had been found on the tiled bathroom floor, muttering in his sleep, reeking of fresh bile. And Toris, the next evening, had admitted that he had this problem, that in the middle of sleep he would have these dreams that would spoil his stomach and make him a nervous wreck.

Ivan, naturally curious, had inquired the cause, but Toris had fallen silent then and had never spoken again of it since.

Watching the man he was so attached to suffer, Ivan couldn't help but let his heart ache. If anything, he wanted to give him solace.

He offered Toris his hand and pulled the man up in a motion so swift that Toris lost balance and stumbled right into him. He really did look miserable. There had to be something he could say to divert his attention.

Ivan bent down low enough so that his mouth was against the Lithuanian's ear. "Was I too rough on you?"

Cheeks burned red hot. "I said don't tease me!" And although Toris put all his strength into fighting back, it only caused him to stumble once more. Ivan barely caught him this time.

"I was only asking, yes?" Ivan chuckled mildly, and Toris couldn't deny that it was soothing to hear such a delightful sound. Despite Ivan's intimidating physique, he had an innocent voice that never ceased to please the Lithuanian. In many ways, Ivan reminded him of a child.

Good-natured and pure at heart.

Impulsive, but so full of love.

It was times like these that reminded Toris how lucky he was to have Ivan in his life. Like now, for instance, Ivan had already lifted Toris from the bathroom floor and was carrying him to the bathtub to be cleaned up.

"You don't have to, Ivan." But his protests were weak, and the Russian had already begun undressing him. A hot bath followed soon after, and before long, Toris was being wrapped in a towel and walked back to the bedroom. Ivan had offered to carry him then, too, however Toris promptly convinced him that he was capable, at very least, of doing that himself.

It didn't stop Ivan from finding him a change of clothes and dressing him. Ever so delicately did he treat the smaller man, as if he were made of glass, as if one wrong move might break Toris and leave him shattered on the floor. He would place a kiss here and there: some on his forearms, on his shoulders and chest, some on his face.

It was good that he had chosen the warmest cotton nightwear, Ivan thought, because Toris was shivering. For a second time that night, Ivan coaxed the Lithuanian beneath the linen sheets, albeit, lacking the mischievous intentions that had led him to do so some hours earlier.

"Thank you," Toris whispered once the quilted cover was over them both. "I don't know what came over me." A common and false phrase that he would use quite frequently, even though the two of them knew well what the problem was.

"Next time, you call me for help," Ivan said, bringing his lover's hands to his lips so that he could press kisses to those knuckles. "Don't forget about me; I know that you did, Toris. You always do."

But in his warm, burly arms, Toris couldn't possibly imagine forgetting about Ivan. He snuggled closer, burring his head in the crook of the other's neck where he placed a soft peck.

"I don't think there will be a next time." He thought he'd said, but sleep was heavy on him...

Perhaps he had dreamt the whole thing.

He peeked through his lids at Ivan, who was smiling softly, arms wrapped tight over Toris's lithe torso, eyes closed.

Undisturbed.

The scent of shampoo wafted past him, and Toris couldn't have been any happier.


End file.
